


Stunning

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, M/M, Minor Injuries, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Temporary Amnesia, like really really temporary lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22752442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: After an incident involving painkiller induced flirtation, Flash's crush on Spider-man comes to a head.--Set nebulously in an AU where they are in college as usual but Peter isn't dating anyone...
Relationships: Peter Parker/Flash Thompson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 275





	1. Peter/Spider-man's POV

Peter was in a hospital bed.

That was bad, probably.

He knew he ought to have been panicking about it.

But even though he knew this, he simply felt very, very calm.

There was an IV attached to his arm, and a little clip on his finger, and he was propped up and covered in a big pile of rough but warm cotton blankets. His mask was rolled up over his nose, and he had a cannula for oxygen taped to his face. He could hear his own heart rate monitor, which sped up just a little bit when he took a deep, painful breath, and slowed slightly when he exhaled, an almost imperceptible shift. He could hear a television with the volume very low, but still easy for him to pick out. Some kids' show, if he had to guess.

Peter blinked his eyes open, to view the world through the slight film of some kind of pseudo-glass.

Right. Right, his mask.

He squinted against the lights with a slight whine, and turned his head away. The lenses on his mask kept out the harshest of it, at least.

And he suddenly became aware that he was not alone, on hearing a sharp intake of air and a rustle.

"Spidey!"

He rolled his head back in the direction of the voice and peered at the person it came from. Strawberry blonde hair, dimpled cheeks, angular brows, a stitched up gash on his chin, blue-green eyes—literally, heterochromatically so, one blue with little splotches of golden-brown, and the other green with a bold ring of amber around the pupil.

Concern was written across that pretty face as he leaned close with a soft, "Spidey, how do you feel?"

"Shit," Peter hitched his breath, a little woozy, and added, " _Hi_. Wow. Hey. You're _stunning_."

The person pulled back a little—still with that little crease between angular eyebrows, but slightly confused. "...Spider-man?"

"Do we know each other?" Peter let his head loll a little against the pillows, going for goofy and probably definitely hitting it, as he clumsily gestured between them with his best attempt at a flirtatious smile.

Immediately, he regretted it, at the way the other person frowned.

"You don't recognize me?" They sighed, and muttered, "I guess I deserve this."

"Oh, hey, uh... No, listen." Peter reached out, awkward, unsure exactly how familiar to be. He set his hand on his apparent friend's arm. "I mean, I _totally_ know who you are. Right. We're... dating? Please say we're dating." He tried for his most charming grin. "I would like it a lot if we were dating."

For a second, it seemed like maybe his attractive friend had ceased the ability to function. He opened his mouth, and closed it again without saying anything, gradually growing redder by the second.  
Hopefully he wasn't some sort of self-destruct robot with an unfortunate set of activation words. But he didn't explode, just opened his mouth again and let out this kind of strangled, squeaking, "What?"

Peter sighed and let his head fall back into place so he could stare at the ceiling.

"We're not dating,"

Typical Parker luck.

"I'm not—" His friend struggled to find the words. "You're _Spider-man_."

Well, Peter could remember _that_ much on his own, at least.

He closed his eyes, with a slow exhale. Turned to look at his companion again, mask rustling slightly against the pillow. He squeezed his friend's arm, where his hand still rested. "Well clearly Spider-man doesn't know what he's missing out on." He tried for another smile, softer and more genuine, though his face wouldn't quite behave. "Tell me your name, at least. Is it Eugene? You look like a Eugene."

That got him a brief startled look, and the guy shook his head with a half-formed laugh, the tension in his shoulders bleeding away. "I hate that name." He swallowed and met Peter's—well. His mask, more than his eyes. "Flash Thompson?"

Peter turned that around in his brain. Flash Thompson... It felt right.

"Your name is a _verb_."

Flash actually snorted, and Peter liked that—the way he smiled, finally, dimples deepening.

"Go figure."

Peter kept his hand on Flash's arm.

***

Some undetermined time later, feeling a little clearer after a stretch of off-and-on unconsciousness and brief visits from the nurse, Peter blinked awake again...

He shot upright.

The room was empty.

An angry throb in his chest.

Right.

Right, he'd been _shot_.

A rescue mission gone a little lop-sided. Thought he'd cleared the building. Wrong, wrong, wrong, but he'd been so worried he hadn't been thinking straight, just focused on finding Flash—

That was right. Flash had been tied up, but intact, and Peter had been too preoccupied untying him to notice the final remaining gunman until he shot at Flash. Peter had shoved Flash out of the way, probably too rough, and taken a bullet to the chest just as he webbed the last guy to the wall. A bullet meant for Flash's head.

Peter pressed his hand to his heart, breathing slowly. Each breath hurt, but he wasn't bleeding all over the place, and he wasn’t dead... His heart beat steadily under the bandages.

Carefully, he removed the IV line from the crook of his elbow, pressing his finger down to keep it from bleeding. Give it a few seconds and such a tiny puncture would heal right up. He didn't need any more of whatever they'd medicated him with, that was for damn sure. Who even knew what was in there? He took the cannula from his slightly stubbly face just as carefully, and slipped out of bed, the pulse monitor doohickey still clipped to his finger as he pulled the papers from the folder at the foot of the bed.

No blood tests.

Small mercies.

Nothing looked too out of place. Saline drip, painkillers, the kind of thing one might expect. Peter let out a sigh and tossed the folder onto the bed, finally popping the clip off his finger and looking around the room. The rest of his suit was folded on a chair in the corner, and he wasted no time in shedding his hospital gown and gingerly pulling the suit on over his bandages. It had been washed, at some point, but not mended. A hole that lined up with the carefully taped pad of gauze over his wound.

Peter rolled his shoulders, grimacing slightly. Did _not_ feel good. He tugged his mask down over his mouth and slipped out of his hospital room—

"Spidey!?"

Oh. Shit.

He straightened up. "Flash. You're okay."

But for the stitches on his chin, from when Peter had shoved him out of the way.

Better stitches than a bullet through the brain.

Flash looked at him with wide eyes, just as subtly mismatched as always, like sea glass or something. "I could say the same thing about you, man." He looked... almost flustered. "You shouldn't be walking around."

"Psh," Peter waved his hand. "It's _fine_. I'm fine."

"Fi—" Flash's eyes widened even further, his eyebrows shooting up. "You have a _punctured lung!_ "

No big deal.

"You had a _tube_ in your chest until yesterday morning!"

Okay.

"Listen." Peter put his hands up, as nonchalant as possible. "I feel great. Once I get home, get some rest—I'll be back on the town in no time."

Flash planted his hands on his hips with a frown. "No."

Peter mirrored his pose, leaning back slightly, a note of incredulity to his voice. "No?"

"No." Flash was red, flushed to his ears as he stood up to his idol. "You're just gonna go out there and try to do hero stuff and then rupture your lung and—and die on top of the Flatiron or something and—"

Wow, that was—

Okay, maybe Peter had been planning to swing home.

"Shh, shh..." Peter moved closer, and held his hands out, steadying as he reached for Flash. "I'm not—I _swear_ , I won't rupture my lung."

Fingers crossed.

Flash looked down, frowning still, though he let Peter—well, no he let Spider-man pull him close. Let him squeeze his shoulders with a quiet, "It's okay. Okay?"

Again, but quieter, "No." All soft and flushed, as he barely shook his head. His voice cracked as he said, "No, I won't let you."

His t-shirt was stained with dried blood. Washed, but not bleached, discoloring the white fabric just over the School House Rock title, a big rusty patch across Flash's shoulder.

Peter traced his finger along the edge of the stain, and looked down at himself. Touched his hand to his chest again.

"Oh." He pressed his palm flat to Flash's chest, right over his heart. He could almost feel it beating there. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Flash." He pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry."

He barely remembered it. Flash carrying him out, shouting for help. He'd lost consciousness with Flash holding him tight to his chest, whispering to himself how everything was gonna be okay.

Peter smoothed his hand over Flash's trembling shoulders.

"You did good." He pressed his hand to the back of Flash's hair, little curls at his neck. "Really good, Flash."

Flash reached his arms around Peter, very slowly, like he was afraid.

Peter stroked his hair and gave him a little squeeze. Flash's arms tightened slightly around him, and he let out a shaky sigh.

"They tried to make me leave." He buried his face in Peter's neck. Mumbled, "I convinced them to let me stay to protect Spider-man's honor."

Peter laughed, and winced, hissing slightly. He took a few shallow breaths, as Flash drew back with a frown. His eyes were all glassy, but no tears. Peter reached up to cup his smooth cheek and said, "I owe you one."

Flash wrinkled his nose, but he didn't pull away. "I think..." He smiled, crookedly. "That we're kinda even already."

"...Right. The whole 'I took a bullet for you' thing."

Flash nodded, grinning wider.

Peter tapped his chin, just to the side of the sewn up gash there. "You're welcome."

Flash ducked his head with a laugh, quiet and much lighter now. Dimpling his face and squinting his eyes and—

"Stunning..."

Flash fell silent almost immediately, his eyes locking onto Peter's mask with the tiniest crease on his forehead as he blushed. "What?"

Oh. Whoops.

"Did I say that out loud?"

Flash opened his mouth. Closed it. "...No."

With a slow nod, Peter said, "Right. I did not say that out loud." He pointed over his shoulder. "Walk you home?"

***

They ended up taking a cab, on Flash's dime with a promise from Spider-man that Peter would pay half of it back. The joys of secret identities. He walked Flash up to his dorm room, leaning on the wall as Flash unlocked his door. One of the neighbors was watching football very loudly. There was a spider sitting in its web up in the corner over the stairs, and Peter eyeballed it.

The door squeaked as Flash opened it, and Peter turned his attention back to the moment at hand.

"See you later?" He tilted his head.

Flash watched him for a second, thoughtfulness turning the corners of his mouth down.

He shook his head and looked down at the floor, mumbling, "You should stay."

"Oh, really?" Peter crossed his arms. "So you can keep me here, tied to your bed?"

Always fun, to watch Flash blush—he stammered, "N-no, I just, you're hurt and—"

"Kidding." Peter pushed away from the wall, tensing slightly from the motion, and slipped past Flash into his dorm room. "I know you're worried." He made a beeline for the kitchenette (more of a nook, with a hotplate and a tiny sink), and tossed over his shoulder, "I'll stay tonight, but that's it."

Though spending another day in this mask...

Ugh.

He grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from Flash's mini fridge, and a sandwich that must have been at least a few days old considering Flash hadn't even left the hospital once according to his own account of the past two days. Had showered and eaten and shaved there.

Peter rolled his mask up and sniffed the sandwich. Smelled fine. Therefore: edible.

Mostly.

"I can't believe you get _extra_ mayo on your sandwiches, you heathen."

Flash scoffed, his bare back to Peter as he rummaged through a basket of laundry under the window. "Whatever!" He pulled on a bright red t-shirt and turned to Peter with a grin, his hair fluffy from static. "You and Peter hang out too much. Mayo is good."

Peter made a disgusted noise, though he still took another bite between swigs of blue Gatorade.

Then he almost snorted Gatorade up his nose, at the big Spidey face delineated in black on Flash's shirt. White eyes, heavy lines. Navy raglan sleeves and collar.

"What'd I say?" Peter coughed, and gestured to his shirt. "Bed. Tied to it. Captive wall-crawler."

Flash turned nearly the color of his shirt, and immediately stripped it right back off. Peter pretended he wasn't staring—easy with the mask. He took in Flash's narrow waist and muscular chest, a tiny dusting of reddish hair...

A plain gray shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a deep V from what might have been once been a hood—also cut off—covered Flash's skin and he crossed his arms.

"I'm not a _freak_."

Peter busied himself with the rest of the sandwich, with a disbelieving noise and a shrug.

”Seriously, man—" Flash was all embarrassed, scrunching his face up with his arms around himself as he hunched his shoulders up. "I just think you're cool and stuff."

Peter grinned, and took mercy as he set his Gatorade to the side. "I know, I know." He crumpled up the wrapping from the sandwich and tossed it into the garbage can by the tiny sink. Swish. He snagged his bottle from where he'd set it and headed for the couch (a collapsible futon). "I'm just teasing you."

As he sat, he added, "You're cute when you're embarrassed."

Silence for a moment.

Peter really should have learned what not to say at some point in his life.

Finally, quietly, Flash asked, "Do you remember anything from yesterday?"

With a sigh, Peter kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

Yesterday, yesterday...

"Depends." He tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. "When's yesterday?"

Flash huffed, and Peter couldn't tell if he sounded relieved or annoyed.

"You woke up yesterday, a little while after they took the tube out of your chest." He came around to sit beside Peter with a sigh, and Peter rolled his head to the side to look at him. "You didn't recognize me, though. I asked and they said sometimes that happens after an injury, depending on the medication, and depending on what happened, and sometimes just for no reason at all." He put his socked feet up on the table beside Peter's, and leaned back against the cushions. "You called me Eugene."

Peter made a face. "Oof, sorry."

"S'okay." Flash shrugged. "I was kinda glad 'cause it meant you at least... _sort_ of knew who I was. You know? Somewhere in there." He frowned slightly, and looked at Peter, mirroring his position. Head tilted to the side against the back of the couch, hands crossed on his stomach. "You really don't remember?"

He wasn't blushing anymore, but a hint of pink still colored his face, and he looked... almost disappointed.

"Not really." Peter leaned away to grab his Gatorade and took a swig. He set the bottle back down and considered Flash. "Why?"

Flash shrugged, staring up at the ceiling now.

"It's just." His throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly hesitant in some way. "When we left, you said... That thing you totally didn't say." He cracked a crooked little smile.

Right. That thing Peter hadn't meant to say out loud.

"You said that before, too." Flash's voice was quiet, just above a murmur, and his smile fell a bit. "When you couldn't remember me."

Peter frowned. "I said... that thing I said?"

" _Stunning_."

That.

Flash laughed, like he was embarrassed, and brought his hand to his face. "I think you asked me out." He laughed harder, then. "You were really... _weird_."

"I'm always weird." Peter nudged his foot. "It comes with the territory."

"Yeah..."

They both grew quiet. Peter listened to Flash breathing, as his own chest ached with each breath.

After a few seconds, Peter said, "Sorry for hitting on you while I was high on painkillers."

Flash snorted. "It's okay, I think." He stretched his arms over his head. "How many other people get to say their biggest hero really wanted to date them for like, five seconds?"

"Only five seconds?" Peter clicked his tongue. "Give yourself a little credit. Pretty-boy football star like you? I must have wanted to date you longer than _that_. Ten seconds, at least."

Quietly, Flash let out a sigh that turned into a laugh. He pressed his palm to his forehead with a helpless grin, and Peter smiled at him. Making Flash laugh—that was good. That was great. Even if his laugh drew Peter's attention to his mouth, and his mouth drew Peter's attention to the red gash on his chin. It was such a small thing, but Peter couldn't help but feel that maybe if he'd been paying more attention... If he'd been more thorough looking for the gunmen... but then maybe he would have been too late.

Peter reached out to take Flash's chin in his gloved hand, brushing his thumb over the even stitches there.

"Does it hurt?"

Flash shook his head, not enough to dislodge Peter's fingers. "Nah." He licked his lips (pink, a little chapped). Smiled. "You got _shot_."

Peter shrugged. "I've had worse."

He really had.

"Well, so have I." Flash turned toward Peter, resting his cheek on his arm and pulling his legs up onto the couch. He caught his shin with a hand, focused on Spidey, looking him up and down. Only lingered a little on his chest and the little bullet hole there in the suit. Mostly looking into his mask. "After all the bones I've broken, a little scratch is nothing." He smiled a little, an edge of sadness to it.

Peter ran his fingers up Flash's jaw.

Broken bones... bruises... Damage both external and internal. A missing tooth no one knew about. (But Peter knew.) He'd seen Flash with black eyes and a bleeding nose. Seen him all done up in casts and bandages. On crutches. Not all from his dad, not for years now. Sometimes just from being stupid and brave, throwing his life on the line for strangers and friends and family, and Spider-man too.

There was a little scar under his eyebrow—Peter pressed his thumb over it for just a second, before smoothing it over his eyebrow.

Flash looked at him a little quizzically.

Peter leaned in, closing the space between them until their lips met.

Flash stopped breathing.

Until he didn't—he inhaled sharply, and Peter drew back just enough to look at him. Flash stared back, odd-eyed and beautiful, as he let his breath out slowly. Peter gave him a few seconds to breathe before closing in again. Flash made a soft, quiet noise against his mouth, moving slightly—shifting into it, his hand still on his shin and one arm still draped over the back of the couch.

The second time they parted, just centimeters away, Flash breathed, "Spidey..."

A hot rush of guilt filled Peter.

"Shit." Peter pulled away. "Shit, I'm sorry."

Flash frowned, and Peter could see the hurt already forming in his expression.

"What—"

Peter scrambled off the couch, a pang in his chest from—no, that was from the gunshot wound. He winced, and tugged his mask down, already to the window by the time Flash made it off the couch. Halfway onto the fire escape when Flash said, "Wait!"

"Spidey—" Flash grabbed him, because Peter let him. "Please, just—"

He floundered for something to say.

Peter looked down at his small hand, scarred knuckles. Wrapped around Peter's arm tight, like he could really stop him from going. Peter shook his head, pulling his wrist free from Flash's grip—though he raised his hand to cup Flash's face like he had earlier.

"I shouldn't have done that." He ran his thumb, light as a feather, over Flash's cheek. "I'm sorry."

He was gone before Flash could even shout, "Wait! Spidey!"

"Spider-man!"

Carried on the wind in Peter's wake.

***

Peter paced in his own dorm room (a single), stripped down to his dance belt and bandages, and nothing else.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He ran his hands through his hair, no doubt mussing it into a wild state, especially after at least two days without a shower. "Fuck, shit, fuck."

He was an asshole. Officially. He'd always been an asshole but this really just cemented his status as New York City's Biggest Jerk. Maybe even the biggest jerk in the entire world. What kind of guy kept his identity a secret and then kissed one of his biggest fans who didn't know said identity and _then_ on top of _that_ ran away—out the window, no less.

The worst kind of guy.

A coward.

And what was he supposed to do?

He couldn't ask for advice.

"Oh, hey Aunt May! I kissed a friend of mine who didn't know it was me and then I jumped out the window! What do I do?"

Sure to go over well.

Peter stopped pacing in the middle of the floor, fingers firmly entwined in his hair.

He took a deep breath—aching and unpleasant—and let it out slowly.

"I'm the worst person on the planet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> giving flash heterochromia like, here he is, my beautiful mary sue who i can't decide on one eye color for
> 
> PERSONALLY I like mayo, but I am not spider-man.  
> (......or am i? 🤔)


	2. Flash's POV

After Spider-man left, Flash stood leaning out the window for a few seconds, stunned.

He felt all tingly, where Spidey had touched his face, and his lips.

Spider-man had kissed him.

Spider-man had kissed him _and then run out the window_.

Flash slammed the window shut, harder than he realized—the bang startled himself and he froze for a moment before kicking back into gear and locking it. He let the blinds down gentler, and stood there for just a few seconds with his head in his hands, counting his breaths. In and out... slowly... Relax. Control the anger—or rather, frustration.

He'd been rejected before. Dumped.

Not by Spider-man though.

Not that he ever would have even admitted the way Spidey made his stomach go all fluttery.

When he'd kept complimenting Flash like that...

Heat pricked at Flash's eyes, and he scrubbed at them angrily.

Angry with himself, and with Spidey, and with... everything.

No tears. Tears were for crybabies and losers.

Not for Flash. He wasn't like that.

At least his roommate wasn't home.

He let out a shaky breath and went to make himself dinner.

Spider-man had eaten his stupid sandwich but there was still half the bottle of Gatorade left, sitting by the couch, and he had instant noodles he could make. Not the most glamorous of meals, and on a better day he would have been able to make something more, but he didn't have the energy in him. Not after spending three days basically living in someone else's hospital room. He just needed to eat something other than jello and iceberg lettuce, and go the hell to sleep.

Flash wolfed down his dinner and got ready for bed.

He lay staring up into the darkness for a few minutes.

Five more minutes and he threw the Spider-man plush toy he usually slept with at the wall. It hit with a dull thunk.

He pulled his blankets up over his head, curling up into a little ball, and scrunched his eyes up tight, trying not to think about Spider-man's long fingers on his face, or the way his stubble had scratched Flash's chin when they had kissed.

If Flash had just kept his mouth shut, maybe Spider-man wouldn't have run like that...

Like he'd realized what he was doing and who he was kissing and how much better he could do.

Find a nice girl he could trust with his identity, who would have his little spider-babies and make him dinner.

Not Flash.

***

Lunch with the gang the next day—MJ was late, but she was always late. Fashionably so. Harry was early, and Gwen was precisely on time. Flash stared sullenly into his coffee. Black, with too much sugar. He picked at his cheese bagel, half-listening to Gwen going over some chemistry mumbo-jumbo with Harry. How Flash had ended up friends with a bunch of nerds...

At least MJ wasn't like that. She and Flash understood each other—even if their interests didn't exactly align much.

Speak of the devil, MJ swept in with a jingle from the café door, and before she'd even sat down, announced, "Peter's not coming."

"What?" Gwen sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Again?"

MJ raised her hands in surrender, as she finally sat, cozying up next to Flash. "He's sick, apparently." She stole a chocolate covered coffee bean from Harry's little stash on his plate. "Says he's been laid up pretty bad the whole weekend."

Harry shook his head, echoing all their thoughts when he said, "That's what he always says."

Full of excuses...

Or maybe just really prone to illness.

Except Flash didn't think he'd ever seen Peter so much as sniffle.

He sighed.

"Hey," MJ leaned close to him. "What's got you so down, tiger?" Her eyes twinkled as she added, "Surely you're not missing Petey's scintillating conversational skills?"

He half-smiled at that, and shook his head, expression dropping. He sipped his lukewarm coffee, turning over what he ought to say in his head. He didn't really want to bring up the specifics... but talking about it seemed like maybe it could help...

"What do you do if... Well..." He shrugged a little. "Hypothetically..."

MJ raised one impeccable eyebrow, and Gwen and Harry leaned close—gossip hounds.

"Hypothetically?"

Flash bit his lip. "Theoretically, what would you do if you were talking to... a _person_... and you really liked this person... and they kissed you..." MJ practically glowed with excitement and Flash rushed to finish before she got too invested in something that was already ruined. "But then they realized it was a mistake and just bailed?"

Her expression immediately turned serious and she moved to give him her undivided consideration.

"Oh, honey—" She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Did someone do that to you?"

He shrugged, and looked away.

Nodded slightly.

"...Yeah."

MJ pouted—on anyone else it would have felt mocking, but with her it just felt sympathetic, as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, that's terrible." She gave him a squeeze—she smelled like roses and vanilla, and Flash turned into her embrace willingly. He hadn't realized until that moment how badly he needed it.

"Thanks." He took a deep breath. "Sorry."

Gwen cut in before anyone else with a sharp, "Anyone who kisses and runs is a coward!" She slapped the table in front of Flash. "If I could, I'd track that guy down and teach him a lesson!"

"I—" Flash felt his ears go hot. "I never said it was a guy—"

Gwen's eyebrows shot up and she and Harry exchanged a meaningful look.

She reached out to take Flash's hand. "Flash."

Another meaningful look, directed at _him_ this time. "Was it a guy?"

He ducked his head, burying his nose in MJ's hair.

MJ sighed dramatically and patted the back of his head.

"Okay, maybe it _was_ a guy—"

Harry slipped Gwen a fifty dollar bill.

"—but that doesn't matter anyway cause he jumped out the window."

MJ pulled back from Flash with a sharp frown. "He did _what_?!"

Gwen pulled a face, and Harry let out a quiet, "Ouch."

"You're not _that_ bad at kissing..." Gwen leaned her cheek against her fist. "Sure, you could use some practice, if that game of spin-the-bottle we played is anything to go by, but it definitely doesn't warrant jumping out a window." She shook her head, exuding disappointment on Flash's behalf. "Some men... I swear."

Harry nodded somberly.

MJ just stared at Flash, far more serious than usual. Her mossy green eyes were narrowed in thought, sharp as she looked at Flash, like she was searching for some kind of answer. Flash frowned at her a little bit, tilting his head—

"I'm gonna kill him." MJ stood, and if Flash hadn't been looking at her he might have thought he imagined that, especially as—as if someone had flipped a switch—she suddenly beamed at him and said, brightly, "I just remembered a job interview I have to be at in five minutes."

Off she went in a swish of perfume and drapey knitwear, bustling out onto campus with only a brief wave, and a "Toodles!" shouted over her shoulder.

Flash turned back to Gwen and Harry.

Gwen raised her eyebrows.

"So," Harry sipped his coffee. "If she gets arrested for murder, we're her alibi, right?"

"Of course." Gwen stole his last coffee bean. She popped it into her mouth with a crunch. "Isn't that what friends are for?"

***

Luckily, Mary Jane did not need an alibi for murder or manslaughter or anything else.

The next day Flash saw Gwen on the way to his Poetry and Literature class like he always did, and she waved at him just like she always did, and the day went on in a fairly normal manner other than Flash occasionally drifting off to dwell on his bad luck in the realm of love.

Preemptively dumped by Spider-man...

He barely paid attention in class, mostly staring out the window, chewing on his pencil.

Just as class was wrapping up, Flash's phone buzzed a few times. He let it be, as he put away his things, but he pulled it out of his pocket as he left the classroom. It was from Peter—

_e_

_meet me_

_fkc_

_fountain_

Peter was a horrible texter.

Flash would have thought he'd be better at hitting the right keys with those outrageously long fingers but maybe his hands were just too big for his goofy little slide phone he'd had since high school. Flash rolled his eyes and didn't bother responding, changing direction to jog out onto the quad.

It was nice out—sunny, a little cool. Flash pulled his varsity jacket a little tighter against the breeze. It wasn't like his high school jacket, all covered in patches and pins and embroidery. No, this was just simple cream wool and maroon leather, with the ESU logo on the left breast in red, and plain in all other regards.

Peter was sitting on a bench facing the fountain, his long legs stretched out, seemingly spaced out and staring into the falling water. But before Flash even said his name, he snapped to attention.

For just a second, Flash faltered—Peter's eyes were intense, his dark eyebrows drawn together—but then Peter relaxed, and Flash's heart settled back down where it belonged.

"Hey!" Flash waved, bouncing a little on his feet as he hurried over.

Peter tilted his head. "Hi." He stared at Flash for a drawn-out second, almost puzzled, then blinked and shook his head, turning his attention to his knees. "Hey, hi. How are you?"

Flash flopped down onto the bench beside him with a grin. "I'm okay. MJ said you were sick."

He did look worse for the wear—dark bags under his eyes, face drawn, bundled up in a thick blue sweater.

Peter shrugged. "I guess." He fiddled with a loose piece of yarn on his sleeve, and his tongue darted out. He seemed about to say something, but then just mumbled, "'m fine."

They sat together kind of awkwardly for a few minutes. Peter seemed like he had something on his mind, and Flash didn't want to interrupt him in case it was important, so he just sat with his hands in his pockets watching the fountain sparkle in the sunlight.

Peter took a deep breath. "Hey, I—" He cut himself off. Let out a breath like he was nervous, or something, tapping his foot on the walkway. "I just wanted—" He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and then just, in a mumbled rush—"D'youwannagoout?"

"Wh..."

Flash looked at Peter—he was glaring down at his hands, clasped in his lap so hard his knuckles had gone white. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

"Huh?"

Peter unclenched his jaw and Flash imagined it must have creaked.

More slowly, this time...

"Do you... want to go out? Sometime?"

He still wouldn't look at Flash, though.

Flash gaped at him.

" _What_?" His voice cracked. "Like—like on a _date_?"

Peter blinked.

Then he threw his head back and laughed, which Flash thought was a little uncalled for—but then he grimaced, and pressed a hand to his chest with a hiss, though he still half-grinned as he caught his breath. He finally looked at Flash, a lot less tense (though he looked pale), and nodded toward him.

"Yeah, like a date." He gave Flash a small, kind of embarrassed smile.

A date... with Peter...?

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?" Flash knew he was avoiding the main topic of conversation but Peter _did_ look like he was in pretty rough shape.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm _fine_." He rubbed that same spot on his chest a little, through his sweater, and added, "I just need to make sure I don't exert myself too much." He paused. Cracked a grin. "If you know what I mean."

Flash ducked his head, flooding with heat from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. "That's—"

"Hey." Peter clasped his shoulder. "I was joking. It's okay."

Flash bit his tongue, but nodded.

Peter's hand was warm through his jacket.

"Sooo..." Peter slipped his arm across Flash's shoulders, casually. _Too_ casually. "About that date."

It really hit Flash, then, that Peter had asked him out. Suddenly his stomach felt like the bottom had fallen out, and he swallowed back the urge to blurt out something stupid or defensive. This was just his pal Peter, and this wasn't high school anymore, and Flash could do whatever he wanted and no one could say anything, but...

But it was still a lot.

"Flash." Peter moved his hand to Flash's back, a reassuring rub. "Look at me?"

It took him a moment, but Flash looked at him, trying not to think about how warm the space between them was, where their legs brushed. How loud his heartbeat was in his ears.

Peter smiled crookedly at him, the sunlight catching on the light dusting of freckles across his nose.

He had the longest eyelashes Flash had ever seen.

But—

Spider-man.

"I don't know, Pete..." Flash looked away, scuffing his foot against the walkway in front of the bench. "I've never really—and yesterday this thing happened—and I just... I don't know." He shrugged a little, awkwardly. Peter's hand was still on his back.

Peter was silent a moment.

Then he reached for Flash's hand, fingers long and calloused over Flash's scarred pink knuckles. He scooted a little closer, turning to Flash just a bit to catch his eye, and guided Flash's hand to his chest. Pressed his palm against his soft sweater, just over the curve of his ribs, and said, "Has anyone ever told you you're stunning?"

His stare was focused, dark, and strangely insistent.

Like a dare.

Flash seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

His chest.

His hands.

 _Stunning_.

His cracked lips—he was clean shaven, now, of course, but...

"I'm gonna shove your head in a toilet."

Peter made a face, but he let out a soft, "Yeah, I probably deserve that."

Flash swallowed, and dug his fingers into Peter's sweater.

"You ditched me—" He took a shaky breath, caught somewhere between angry and upset and thrilled. "You climbed out my window—"

"I know..." Peter reached for Flash's face, palms warm against his cheeks. He smoothed his thumbs over the skin at the corners of Flash's eyes. "I know. I'm sorry." He sighed, and pressed their foreheads together. "I panicked."

What an understatement.

Flash closed his eyes, overwhelmed by Peter's closeness.

"You owe me a sandwich."

Peter laughed, quietly. "Deal." He ran his hand up to ruffle Flash's hair. "Two sandwiches, and I promise not to jump out the window this time."

Flash wrapped his arms around Peter and buried his face against his neck.

"You better not."

Peter just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay  
> the end

**Author's Note:**

> This came about somehow because me and Tye (cannibal_wings) were talking about Superior Spider-man, Peter, and Peter's resultant amnesia and the convo turned two directions: ssm angst and unrelated sillier prompts. obviously this was more of the latter..... and very brief.


End file.
